I’m on a job to, among other things, repair a light over a client’s front door. The issue as described by the client is that it doesn’t always come on every time they flip the switch.

I talk to the property manager and he shows me the switch — in a bank of about eight others — that controls the light. I turn it on and off several times and cannot replicate the issue, but to be thorough, I open the fixture and inspect everything. I tell the property manager that it seems to be in proper working order, but I can replace the functional parts just to be certain. He agrees and I proceed.

When I’m finished, I show him that it’s working properly by again repeatedly turning it on and off. He agrees that it’s good to go.

The next day, when we return to finish the rest of the work, he approaches me again and says they’re still having the same issue. This time the client is home so I speak to her directly. I ask her to show me what happens when she turns it on.

She proceeds to flip every single one of the aforementioned eight switches before coming to the one that actually controls the light, and then she says, “See? It doesn’t work.”

Containing my laughter, I show her that it’s only tied to the one switch and repeat the process of turning it on and off, showing her that it’s functioning normally.

(My husband is a contractor for a rental company. He usually gets called to do repairs and repaint and whatnot between tenants. When he needs an extra set of hands, I usually offer to tag along and help out. This particular day, I’ve been watching him cut and replace the wooden trim on a door frame, and now he’s filling in the cracks with caulk, using his fingers and hands to get into the creases.)

Me: “Man, you are always playing with your caulk, aren’t you?!”

Husband: *smirking at me* “Got to make sure it’s smooth. Only way to do that is by rubbing my caulk with my hand.”

Me: “Looks messy. You’re going to get your caulk all over everything!”

Husband: “Good point. Maybe I should go back to playing with my wood.”

(We both start laughing. Then, the rental agent, whom my husband has been working with for nearly 15 years, calls.)

(My mother is looking to have some major work done in our basement: adding heating ducts, getting new cabinets in the kitchen, and putting a shower in the bathroom, among other things. Her father and grandfather owned a kitchen and cabinet company, so she grew up around contracting and has more knowledge than the average homeowner on structure and fixtures. She has hired a contractor who was a recommendation from a trusted and close family member, and she liked the work he did on their house. He has been over a few times to get an idea of the work to be done, and he has come over today with written plans and to knock down a bit of the walls to get an idea of how much work it will be.)

Mom:*pointing on the plans as she goes along* “In the bathroom, we have the two doors here currently. We want to keep them there. I know with the shower going here, [door #1] won’t open all the way. That’s fine. It has to swing this way, because if it swings the other way, you can’t open this [door #2].”

Contractor: “Okay, okay. I see. No, wait. If the shower goes there, [door #1] won’t be able to open all the way.”

Mom: “I know. I’m okay with that. We are keeping [door #1] as it is.”

Contractor: “Okay, so, I’m going to move [door #1] to swing this way so it doesn’t get in the way of the shower.”

Mom: “No, you’re not going to do anything to [door #1]. Keep [door #1] the way it is. If you move it, we can’t access [door #2].”

Contractor: “Okay. So, the shower goes here. And we are moving the [door #2] down here? We can’t do that; it won’t open here! We’ll move [door #2] down here and make [door #1] swing the other way.”

Mom: “No, you’re not listening. Don’t touch the doors. Keep them the way they are. Just put the shower here.”

Contractor: “Oh, okay. So, you want the shower here, then you want me to make [door #1] swing the other way and move [door #2] down here. Got it.”

Mom:*fed up* “NO!” *sigh* “Should we just go down there and look at it in person?”

(He hasn’t started the work yet, but I’m sure she will be close behind him at all times during the project.)

(A recent storm has done a lot of damage, so contractors are swarming to local neighborhoods and going door-to-door offering their services. I live with my parents but around this time during the day, I am the only one home. We’ve had a half-dozen guys come through in about four days, and they won’t listen to me when I tell them I have no power to authorize their services. A contractor comes by and gives a spiel about how they are doing free inspections and that most of any work done would be covered by insurance.)

Me:*firmly but not rudely* “I’m really sorry to waste your time, but this is my parent’s house, and we’ve already been checked out. We don’t have any damage. Have a nice day.”

Contractor: “Oh, but even if you have no damage you could still get a new roof on the insurance company! With all the claims in your area they would never know!”

(The guy seems pretty new to this and I feel bad when I see the almost distraught look on his face as I start closing the door.)

Me:*sigh* “Look: I know it’s tough. But I’m telling you that you’re wasting your time on me. Hmm. It’s pretty hot out, and you don’t look so good. If you’d like, I can get you a cold water bottle, but then you should go, okay?”

(After getting him a bottle.)

Contractor: “You just don’t know what it is like, walking house to house in rural areas, just to be rejected over and over. It’s not an easy task, here!”

(I work as a freelance contractor doing computer repair and sometimes take on wiring projects, too. An apartment complex hires me to fix their private cable service across one of their buildings. I am in the unit of four Spanish-speaking young men. I am male, solidly built, but have back trouble and don’t want to aggravate it by moving heavy furniture.)

Me:*in English since I know at least one of them speaks some English* “Can I get some help moving your TV cabinet from the wall?”

One Of The Young Men: “Why, you can’t do it yourself?” *laughter from all four men*

Me: “I’m sure I could but don’t want to risk damaging any of your things. I just need room to open up the cable jack in the wall and test it.”

(Still laughing, one of them helps move the TV cabinet out.)

Other Young Man:*whispering* “Coneja.”

(Directly translated, “rabbit.” However, I knew the term also is a derogatory slang term related to female anatomy.) The others join in, laughing, “Ay, coneja. Sí, coneja.”)

(The whispered jokes continue with more laughter while I open the cable jack, quickly find the problem (poorly attached connector was about to fall off), fasten a new connector and repair the jack, and turn the TV on.)

Me: “It works, see? Now can we move the TV cabinet back in place?”

One Of The Young Men: “Okay.” *turns to other men and whispers* “Qué coneja.” *what a “rabbit”*